Small Stillness

At the red torii gate

a cat sits in the rain,

tail curled like a question

already answered.

Raindrops drum on wood and stone,

a soft percussion

for those who listen.

The cat does not move,

does not shiver or plead—

its breath is even,

its gaze untroubled.

Temple path, falling water,

fur and silence—

nothing divided.

In this small stillness

the world arranges itself:

gate, rain, cat, moment—

complete without intention.

When the clouds tire

and the rain thins to mist,

the cat stands,

stretches once,

and walks on—

as if nothing

and everything

has happened.